


A Moment of Respite

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Dishonored (Video Game), Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Low Chaos Week 2017, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Telepathic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: There are unexpected results when it comes to checking in on his Whalers using Arcane Bond.





	A Moment of Respite

**Author's Note:**

> **Tumblr Prompt from Anon:** "Sometimes, Daud feels things through the Arcane Bond. Usually it's flashes of pain as one of his assassins is hurt or cut down, flickers of warmth and contentment and the light-headedness a bottle of whiskey brings. Sometimes... well, Daud is an unintentional participant in one of his Whalers getting That Good Dick.”

Jessamine Kaldwin has been regarding Daud in silence for the past few days. It’s a staring match he has yet to win, her with parchment eyes and his aching from lack of sleep. By the fourth day, Daud places the red ink he uses to cross off targets on his cluttered desk. It’s a silent promise to the image of the Empress.

Empress Kaldwin is making him work for her premature end. Every nook and cranny within and outside of Dunwall Tower is occupied by a guard. She would need to be outside and without her loyal Lord Protector for this to be feasible. Hiram Burrows assures him that will be dealt with soon and that draws a disgruntled noise out of the assassin. He doesn’t trust the politician, but the advance in pay keeps him from complaining too much. 

Raising his arms above his head, Daud’s back pops with relief, sagging into his desk’s chair. The assassin, finally, turns away from the blueprints and list of favorable entry points. He takes in his office, shutters and doors closed. It’s typical for Daud to shut out the world when it comes to more prominent hits and Jessamine requires more than his attention. For her, he has closed himself off — physically and mentally — to his Whalers. The arcane bond between them is muted and only his thoughts circulate. But, he’s not getting anywhere with this today and the idea of taking a breather feels warranted. 

Daud decides, in the end, he’ll check on his men and pulls on the invisible web that ties himself with the Whalers. 

Sentiment is a spectrum of colors and actions a range of sounds, loosely creating an outline of a world or scene. If he feels an increase need to micromanage, he can sink even further. He can settle in the bend of their fingers and eyes, the connection amplified and more intense. If needed, he can even influence action. Daud, rarely, does the latter. It’s a useful gift he has developed and he pulls on each individual string without the other knowing. Only Billie ever appears cognizant. He can tug on a string and she’ll acknowledge it — hyperaware of the bond that links them. 

He checks on her now and she gives a comforting tug, in turn. She’s shoots back crisp shades of blue that is, later, splashed with a pale yellow. Amusement. _Rest, old man._ Daud huffs at the response and waves it off, turning to the other Whalers. 

Someone is out in the downtown area of Dunwall. A target has been killed. The world is minimalistic and monotone. Daud hears the even breathing of the Whaler and the sensation of wiping the blade clean. 

Another is upset. Hot colors of orange, becoming muddied with a brown that churns the color into something that makes Daud think of burnt clay. Resentment. Half-caught words of doubt. _—killing her is taking it too far —_ A hand clenched in a fist. Another Whaler, their yellowed notes of dismay, is trying to reach out.  _—in the end, we’ll suffer for it._ Daud could influence the Whaler’s temperament, but there comes a price with meddling too much in the thoughts of his Whalers. He could dull them forever, if he goes too far. Mindless killers who only act when he tells them, too. Useful when he’s around, but not on independent missions. 

Daud chooses to ignore it and turns elsewhere — 

The assassin sucks in the air, instantly tensing when he is greeted with pleasure. It’s a flurry of heated shades of reds and purple, caught in a frenzied whirlpool. Invisible fingers brush against his throat, before weight is added. The Whaler gasps, the colors beginning to emit heat and — Daud retreats.

Awareness returns to the room he is seated in, once more. There is a brief moment of vertigo at the abrupt disconnection, the world tilting and unsteady. He can still feel the heat from the Whaler, lodged somewhere in his gut. Dunwall Tower’s blueprints blur before him, pulling a grimace. The heat fades and leaves as stability returns.

The assassin forces himself to return to work, fingers reaching for the blueprint. Eyes dart, on occasion, to the closed door and shutters. They linger on them for far too long, considering. 

Daud gives in, avoiding the pinned gaze on the board. He moves upstairs, the upper level poorly lit with the shut windows and doors. He opts for sitting on the bed, unsure of what to do with his hands. Daud decides to let them settle on his knees, body stiff. He closes his eyes and pulls on the thread. 

He’s better prepared for the onslaught of sensations than before. He toes into the situation, letting the superficial level of the connection pull him in. Daud feels heat and weight on his neck, mouth, and waist. There is the far off sound of an intake of air, the occasional gasp. They’re being kissed, someone laying on top of them, sensation muffled. Daud lets it stay there, feeling presses of warmth and sound move to his jaw. He can see through the color faint outlines, just glimpses of their partner’s head — haloed in rich, purple streaks — whenever the Whaler opens their eyes. 

Daud convinces himself it is purely curiosity that encourages him to ease just a bit further into this moment. He strengthens the connection between Whaler and self, humming when he can better feel the lips, more distinctly, on his throat. The Whaler’s hand is digging into the flesh of their partner. Somewhere on their side, aware of blunt nails sinking into skin. Movement — he can feel it, two hips rolling into each other, not quite synchronized in pace. They must be undressed because Daud can feel their partner’s cock continuing to catch somewhere underneath his hip bone. The head will catch on the slight dip, smearing wetness across it. 

The older assassin slips further onto the bed, laying down, and ignores the intrusive thought that berates him for doing so. 

Then the sensation is gone. The partner has left, Daud furrowing his brows. The Whaler’s heart rate speeds up, but their eyes remain closed. Daud can’t see what is happening. 

Hands, suddenly, are pushing legs apart and the assassin can feel himself bend his own legs, in response. Something wet drags a line across the skin that connects pelvis to thigh, Daud’s bent legs moving closer to the mattress, making room for the person that doesn’t exist before him. It happens again, each drag of the tongue moving closer and closer to his groin. It pulls a content sound out of the aged assassin, feeling the skin all around be touched by lips and tongue.  

Daud allows a hand to wrestle with the belt of his pants, mind beginning to become distracted as he attempts to remove himself of his trousers. Dwindling patience only gets him so far, satisfied with his trousers undone and partially shoved down. A gloved hand is, already, curling itself around the base of his own cock. 

The grip tightens when he returns to the thread, caught off guard at the distinct sensation of someone pressing tongue and finger into him. It’s too shallow, just a taunt, that leaves both Whaler and him swearing in one winded exhale. The reaction is too mirrored. The words the same. He needs to take better care he’s not completely settling into the Whaler. The flare of concern is abated when tongue and finger sink in deeper, slow and steady. Another hand is pushing at his backside, further exposing him as another finger is added. That pulls a low noise out of Daud, feeling his hand lazily stroke himself, trying to time it to the steady thrust of fingers inside of him — the Whaler. 

A third is added and the Whaler is breathing heavily, beginning to beg. The begging results in both fingers and tongue leaving….and nothing. There is a teasing click of the tongue from above, a mocking tut. 

The Whaler is starting to rock their hips into nothing, eyes opening to reveal the sight of a body hovering over them. Their partner’s thighs are pressing against their backside and the back of their own thighs, leaning over them so their chest is above them. Their partner is still dressed from the waist up, it looks like. They’re adorned in something in a dark shade, the purple hues of the scene clinging onto it. 

Daud’s working hand pauses, heat rising into his neck, when he catches sight of a clerical collar. 

The Whaler’s eyes close before Daud can see more of their partner, groaning in unison when they feel the man’s cock begin to ease in to them. Daud is losing concentration, colors beginning to overcome the entirety of the scene. Their partner — an Overseer — is nothing but a bruise, undefined and panting. Daud attempts to reconnect, to leech off of the signals of pleasure coursing through the Whaler’s body, but he can’t. His attention is too divided and all that is left is just the base sensation of pressure and weight picking up pace. It’s more than enough.

The connection is severed with a choked noise trapped in clenched jaws, Daud arching into his own hand. His heart is beating loudly in his ears as his hips sink back into the bed. He allows himself a moment before he’s pushing himself up, peeling off the ruined glove. 

Daud dashes the traitorous thought of returning to the thread to discover who this Whaler’s partner truly is. He doubts his own intentions. One moment of respite is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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